Asylum Life
by BlackRosePoetry
Summary: A day in the life of Arkham Asylum from the view of an asylum psychotic.


**Asylum Life**

I sit  
in my chair,  
staring at the world around me.

The other carry on  
their Lives.  
Chatting;  
Eating;  
Plotting.  
I am not like them.  
I am Silent.

The woman with the auburn hair;  
She sits by the wall.  
I think they call her  
Ivy.  
Green eyes;  
The emeralds scan the room.  
They rest on me.

I turn my gaze.  
It comes to rest on another.  
He has red hair too.  
The man laughs;  
Words pour gracefully from him.  
Brown eyes;  
Liquid chocolate that swirls.

Another woman;  
blond this time.  
She giggles;  
She laughs;  
She makes the room lighter  
Blue eyes;  
Azure crystals twinkle like stars.  
This one is vulnerable.  
It makes me sad.

A rough voice;  
It growls with authority.  
I turn.  
Another man.

He is scarred,  
just like me.  
Half of his face is handsome,  
chiseled and moulded to perfection.  
The other half is deformed,  
Blackened with a large orange eye.  
His eyes;  
One is soft,  
gentle like a doe's.  
The other is sharp and cold  
like a razor.

Bowing my head,  
I stand.  
The rough cloth of a couch  
greets me.  
I sit there Silently.  
The blond;  
she notices and approaches.  
I keep my head low.  
Black hair to hide my scar.  
She speaks.  
Her name is Harley.

I reply nothing.  
Disappointment;  
It radiates from Harley.  
I feel Bad.  
A whisper answers her.

"My name is Lucy."  
She smiles;  
A warm grin that shines.  
Harley leaves and I am  
alone once more.

A cackle;  
The embodiment of insanity.  
A shiver runs up my spine.  
I'd know that laugh  
Anywhere.

I turn;  
He is there.  
White skin;  
Green hair;  
Blood-red lips in a smile;  
Forming an insane face that  
haunted me.  
Most terrifying of all is his  
Eyes.

They were empty.  
Empty;  
Dark;  
Desolate;  
His eyes were a void,  
nothing but blankness.  
There was only a spark to  
show he was alive.

Harley clung to his arm.  
She loved him.  
That was plain for sure.  
Poor Harley;  
so naïve.

Silently,  
I stand.  
"Walk away," says my mind,  
"Walk away."

A rare moment of sanity;  
inspiration that fuels my mind.  
Sitting at the table,  
I begin to draw.

The lines flow together,  
Smooth;  
Stream-line;  
Flawless to my eyes.  
I shade in the hair,  
capture the texture.

It is Perfect.  
There is Ivy.  
Long hair cascades downwards;  
Full lips smirk;  
Delicate hands play with a flower.

Next to her is the man  
with the scars.  
He is smiling, hands around  
Ivy.  
His normal half is smiling;  
His scarred half is softer somehow;  
It's all from Ivy in his lap.

Harley sits close by,  
grinning cheekily.  
Her Blond pigtails stick out;  
Her head is cocked to the side;  
Sitting cross-legged with her dimples.

Next to her sits the other man.  
His red hair is now gray,  
but it looks like cotton candy.  
His eyes sparkle,  
intelligent with mischief.

I do not draw the clown man.  
He is frightening.

Another voice;  
Lighter and more feminine.  
Ivy;  
She is behind me.  
I bow my head,  
saying nothing.

Delicate green fingers;  
they touch my drawing with  
utmost care.  
She tilts her head;  
Curiosity.

I murmur,  
"It's not very good."

She smile,  
says it's excellent.  
Ivy asks something;  
Curiosity etches her face.

"Why am I with Harvey?"  
That was the scarred man's name.  
Harvey.

I keep my face hidden.  
My scars;  
They scare people.  
I answer her quietly.  
"Because he loves you."

She tilts my head up.  
My hair screen;  
it falls away,  
revealing my scars.

They start at my eye,  
Extending;  
Blossoming;  
Burning out to my hairline.  
The skin there is an angry red,  
bunching and knotting;  
tearing and twisting;  
contrasting greatly with my pale skin.

I close my eyes.  
I don't want to look at the disgust.  
Tears run down my face.  
Sadness;  
Shame;  
Humiliation;  
They all flow through the  
salty drops.

Ivy doesn't gasp.  
She doesn't groan with disgust.  
She accepts it.  
She asks why Harvey loves her.

I laugh through the tears.  
"Because you aren't afraid of scars."

We talk.  
Soon a guard comes.  
I must go back to my cell.  
Rough hands;  
Biting cuffs;  
Harsh words meet me.  
All just another day in  
Asylum Life. 


End file.
